


Are Those Scissors in Your Pocket, Or Are You Happy to See Me?

by leradny



Series: The Trapped Tryptich: Three Tales of Gustav and Jacquelyn [2]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: And the end, CAN YOU IMAGINE SHERLOCK HOLMES IN LEMONY SNICKET'S STYLE, F/M, NAMING EQUALS ADOPTION SORRY THAT IS THE LAW, and the middle, but i digress, but not too polite to basically adopt a tree they were forced to uproot, forgive me for the pun at the beginning, just forgive me for all the puns okay???, not sorry for the theatre etiquette tho, or that part in the middle where it's suddenly sherlock holmes, or the inordinate references to norse mythology, the V.F.D. is too polite for smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leradny/pseuds/leradny
Summary: Before the opening of Count Olaf's horrendous play, there is the question of what an attractive young couple is to do with an abundance of free time and numerous private spaces at their disposal. The answer is simple: Replant the tree before Jacquelyn is arrested for defacing public property.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InsertImaginativeNameHere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertImaginativeNameHere/gifts), [sarahshelena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahshelena/gifts).



Speaking to Gustav in the tunnels has already alleviated some of Jacquelyn's anxiety, though none of her physical exhaustion. Nevertheless, with her mind cleared of some worry, an idea is free to blossom. Her captor, annoyingly verbose, had made a casual comment about a show on Friday night that the Baudelaire children would be _dying_ to participate in. The henchman's emphasis on the word 'dying' had made her even more uncomfortable than being abducted and tied to a tree, which had given her the necessary energy to uproot it.

"Are you free Friday night to attend the theatre?" she asks.

With her mind working so fast, she nearly forgets the unpleasant restraint of ropes around her middle, and the steady drip of unknowable liquids oozing down the walls of the tunnels. It always made her a bit nervous, particularly if she was dressed in her favorite business suit or evening gown. These days, however, one could hardly spare the time to change into an appropriate wading suit, and she had almost gotten used to it the way she had almost gotten used to the tree on her back.

"We might be able to get things back on track without calling attention to ourselves."

"Of course." Gustav smiles as he assures her of his company. Though she had thoroughly expected it (barring some other life-or-death situation he was preoccupied with), and the only reason she'd asked in the first place was to be polite towards her most trusted associate, the world seems a little bit quieter. "But what shall we do until then?"

She glances at his pocket, and quirks an eyebrow. "Are those scissors in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?"

Instead of responding, Gustav says: "Please get your mind out of the gutter, Jacquelyn."

\- - -

_Several hours later:_

Returning to their present surroundings, Jacquelyn feels the equally unpleasant and much more formidable restraint of metal handcuffs on her wrists. She almost prefers the ropes. The equally unpleasant and even damper walls of the holding cell drip down on her arm. She most definitely prefers the tunnels, not least because they are clear of annoying police officers. Jacquelyn sighs, and takes out her handkerchief to wipe her sleeve dry.

"Thank you, Gustav. I really should stop reminiscing about prior events in the sewers."

"Quite understandable," Gustav tells her. "Though unfortunately, not useful except for future altercations. What did you try to avoid arrest this time?"

"Nothing," she admits. "All of my ideas have been spent. I simply changed our dialogue to be more entertaining." Tucking her handkerchief back into her pocket, she remarks, "Out of curiosity, what would you say if I'd asked, 'Are those scissors in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?'"

"'Both, of course,'" Gustav says. "'The scissors I brought because you asked me to--and I am always happy to see you, Jacquelyn.'"

She cannot stop a fond smile from spreading across her face, as she could not have stopped it in the hypothetical scenario. "Don't ever change, Gustav."

"Hey, vandals!" Their captor, a most unpleasant officer by name of Lestrade, rattles the cell bars. "This is a police station, not a fun house! Stop smiling at once!"

She certainly does not feel like smiling now. Jacquelyn glares at Lestrade and snaps: "I certainly don't feel like smiling now, _sir._ "

"That was the point." Lestrade walks away. "Loiterers."

She turns to her handcuffs with a sigh, and gives a futile tug as if it would do something besides make her wrists very sore. Then, once the officer is out of earshot, Jacquelyn lowers her voice. "I don't suppose you've got something to cut us out of these?"

"I'm afraid not. The scissors took up most of the space in my pockets, and they were confiscated during my arrest." Gustav rolls his shoulders. "Rather brusquely, I might add."

"And while I had my lockpicks on me today, I'm afraid Olaf's henchman relieved me of them."

"Despite the fact that you were tied with ropes," Gustav remarks, in his mildest possible tone. A tone which here means that he feels anything but mild.

\- - -

_Several hours earlier:_

Jacquelyn holds very still as Gustav removes his scissors from his coat to divest her of the ropes. Her associate, considerate as always, spares a moment to think of the Baudelaires. "The children must be so frightened." One of the things Jacquelyn adores about her associate is that his heart has not been hardened by the various perils they have endured. While he little resembles the gawky, acne-ridden youth from their apprentice years in appearance, his demeanor is as gentle and kind as ever.

"We're all frightened, Gustav." She shuffles to lean the tree against the wall, and get some of the weight she had been carrying off her feet. If said feet could express their relief, they would have let out a very long sigh. "For example, I'm afraid it will take weeks for my back to stop aching after dragging a tree all this way. And that this poor tree will die due to spending so much time out of the ground."

"Don't worry, Jacquelyn," Gustav reassures her, patiently sawing at the thick ropes. To keep her clothes and flesh from getting caught in the blades, it is a slow process. "Young trees are often uprooted in storms, but they can survive for weeks if their roots don't dry out. And once stably replanted, they'll have no problems making a full recovery. The dampness of the sewers kept this sapling's roots nicely hydrated. As for your back, the tree kept it straight so most of the weight was redistributed to your legs, as is proper for carrying heavy loads. I'm not a doctor, but I'd say there is little to worry about. Though, I do suggest you stay off your feet for some time."

"I'll gladly take that suggestion." The ropes loosen somewhat, and Jacquelyn rolls her neck with a crack that echoes in the sewers. Catching sight of mostly bare branches, she tries twisting to look more closely at the tree she has become rather familiar with over the several hours they were tied together. Her mobility is still limited by the scissors and ropes. "What kind of tree is this, Gustav? Do you know?"

Olaf's associate had thrown a sack over her head during her abduction, and tied her to the tree before removing the sack--as well as Jacquelyn's set of homemade lockpicks. It struck her as rather petty to take them, even from one's enemies, considering she had been tied with ropes and not locked up in chains.

Gustav pauses in his cutting to step behind her and look at the tree. "It's a young ash tree, the favorite haunt of the Icelandic Drillsnake. Dr. Montgomery and I learned of it after an associate spilled some mead, which attracted a large knot of the snakes."

"Fascinating," Jacquelyn says. "Do you think it would be improper of me to refer to the tree by a nickname? We have been tied together for so long that if it were human and able to communicate, I'm sure I would have learned its name and favorite books, at the very least."

"It wouldn't be improper at all," Gustav tells her. "Trees often had names in Nordic myths, and many other cultures besides."

"Perhaps Yggdrasill," she muses. "That's an ash tree, isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon, Jacquelyn--our associate in Iceland has noted there is a scholarly dispute on whether Yggdrasill is in fact an ash tree. The conclusion has been deemed ambiguous due to the fact that Yggdrasill is never referred to as an ash besides one line in verse nineteen of the Völuspá Edda. One of the proposed etymologies for Yggdrasil contains the root for 'yew', and there is also an antiquated colloquialism of yew which translates to 'needle ash', further muddying the waters of linguistic certainty."

"You're right. Such an ambiguous name would never do."

"There!" With one final, careful snip, the last rope is severed and the whole bundle falls to the damp ground. "Jacquelyn, I release you from your inhumane bonds."

Jacquelyn steps away from her inanimate companion to take a closer look for herself, and to stretch her beleaguered back. "Ah! I'm glad that's over. Thank you, dear Gustav."

"You're welcome. I will say that if you are looking for names, the word for 'ash' in Old Norse is 'Askr.'"

"Oscar?"

"Askr," Gustav repeats, stressing the pronunciation slightly.

"Oh." She begins picking up the ropes, many of them long enough to use for constructing any number of useful things such as a grappling hook or a hammock. "That seems like a fine name for an ash tree, in much the vein of Karl for a man or Karla for a woman. Straightforward. Simple." She drops the ropes. "Oh, my goodness, I could be arrested."

"Don't worry, Jacquelyn." He takes her hand. "Naming things isn't illegal, even if you didn't discover an unknown species and they don't belong to you."

"That's precisely the point, Gustav!" The ropes are already useful; Jacquelyn fashions them, damp as they are, into a makeshift sling as she speaks. "This tree doesn't belong to me--it was planted in a city park! By uprooting Askr, I've defaced public property, which locally is defined as a misdemeanor punishable by either a year in jail or a ten-thousand dollar fine. I'm a secretary who is also an actress in primarily independent and intentionally lackluster productions--I can't afford the time or money!"

"But it wasn't your fault!" Gustav insisted. "If you hadn't been abducted and tied to Askr, you would never have needed to uproot it. Surely the police will understand and transfer the weight of judgment to your assailants."

To be frank, Jacquelyn doubts the integrity of the police, considering how her employer, a prominent member of the banking community, had been fooled by Count Olaf. Gustav, however, is somewhat naive, a word which here means 'believes the best of everyone no matter how incompetent the societal system has proven to be.' "Well, we could still replant Askr. Help me, Gustav." She attempts to lift the tree, but to her horror and embarrasment, she only manages to haul one end up a few inches before dropping it back onto the ground.

"You're exhausted," Gustav says. "As the only gentleman in the vicinity, I insist on doing the heavy lifting." With the sling, he hauls Askr over one shoulder. "Lead the way."

Unhindered by ropes and the weight of a tree, it only takes half an hour for them to travel through the tunnels to the park in which she had been held captive.

\- - -

_About one day later:_

"We've got to get out of here before Friday!" Jacquelyn mutters, pacing back and forth. "There is a way to the tunnels from the police station, and from there to the theatre. I know there is!"

"But how would we find it in time? In order to reduce the possibility of people using it for nefarious ends, such as deadly criminals contained in these very holding cells, or corrupt police officers not contained in these very holding cells, no one tells anyone of its specific location."

"You're right. What else can we do?"

They think.

"We could pay our fine," Gustav suggests.

Jacquelyn runs the figures. "With the salaries of a female typist, and of an assistant herpetologist, who both create primarily independent and intentionally lackluster productions in order to refrain from attracting the wrong kind of attention?"

"Point taken. But I could call Dr. Montgomery, whose wages are much higher than mine."

"I would rather you not call the doctor," Jacquelyn says, before she can think.

"Whyever not? As my employer, he's well able to spare the cost for springing both of us from jail, and we are all mutual associates."

"Yet, ideally," Jacquelyn says, thankful that she not only has a reason, but it is why they are in prison at all: "He'll become the legal guardian of the three Baudelaire children by the end of this week. He'll need those funds to provide room, board, and fine literature. Not to mention the task of replacing all of the other possessions they lost in the fire, and treating any mental trauma from both the untimely loss of their parents and their stay with Count Olaf."

"Ah, of course. Thank you for reminding me, Jacquelyn. Which reminds me, I must ask the children what their favorite books are so I can have them ready before they arrive."

She only feels a little bit guilty for a little bit of a lie.

\- - -

_Far too much time before:_

Jacquelyn lifts the manhole cover and peers into the park, rendered empty and forbidding due to the twilight hour.

As she checks to see if anyone is nearby, she muses upon the curiosity of how the same thing can be used for noble and ignoble purposes. Fire, for example, can be used for the noble purpose of cooking food, and the ignoble purpose of burning down a home with two kindly parents within it. And now, a few hours after she had undergone a terrifying abduction, she's using the ropes which had restrained her to drag the tree she had been restrained to back into the park she had worked so hard to escape from.

But the tree was innocent--and so, she supposes, was the fire which burned down the Baudelaire home. Both tree and flame knew not what they did. It was the way they were used and the people who used them which made the action noble or ignoble.

"All clear, Gustav. Let's go."

Her energy has been replenished somewhat, and she helps Gustav lift Askr out of the tunnels, towards the large messy hole in the ground. Together, they stand the tree upright and clear the clumps of sod with the ropes, fashioned from the sling into a dirt-moving apparatus. Neither of them are inventors by nature, but everyone in the V.F.D. learns how to make use of things not intended for the situation they are in, such as ten thousand spoons when all one needs is a knife.

It is still infinitely preferable to use a knife for cutting carrots, particularly when one's life is in danger.

"This would be much easier with a shovel," Jacquelyn mutters.

Gustav laughs, and at her confused look elaborates, "I'm sorry for laughing in such a dire strait, Jacquelyn--but I've got to use that line in my next film! If you don't mind, may I have your permission?"

"Of course," she tells him with a smile. "I'll be typing up everything, anyway."

"How shall I credit you?"

"Unnecessary, my dear Sebald. One could say as the subtitlist, I have credit as co-writer anyway."

Gustav looks very serious for a moment, and Jacquelyn wonders if it was something she said.

"It wasn't anything you said," he assures her. "But I heard footsteps and voices--quick!"

They turn to the manhole cover they had come from, only to find flashlights and a group of dark uniformed people heading towards them. Jacquelyn's heart figuratively leaps into her throat, and she grabs Gustav's hand, pulling him towards the nearest and largest tree for concealment.

"--wonder who or what could have uprooted a tree without heavy machinery."

"Well," the foremost officer says, "Obviously it was a very large badger."

"Yes, of course," the rest of them nod. "A badger is made for digging."

"But Lestrade," the second foremost officer interjects. "What if it was a dog?"

"A dog, Gregson?" The first officer scoffs. "Dogs are too stupid to think of digging up trees and hauling them away."

One must know that one of the many animals the V.F.D. has eschewed training is the dog--but not because they are unintelligent creatures. Rather, it is because as a species they are simply too eager to believe in the best of people, particularly if they are offered bacon. Cats are also eschewed, but only because they cannot be trained at all. Jacquelyn's grip tightens at the insult to an innocent creature. Unfortunately, her grip tightens on Gustav's hand. At the swallowed noise of pain, Jacquelyn lets go and apologizes by tapping on his shoulder in code: _My deepest apologies Gustav stop._

 _Apologies accepted stop,_ he taps back.

"And yet, the dog could have wanted to play fetch and uprooted the tree in lieu of a toy... Why, just last week Baskerville's dog grabbed his nightstick as he was brandishing it at a suspect in the interrogation room--silly thing!"

 _How condescending these people are!_ Jacquelyn taps. There is a very long silence with no response from Gustav, until she remembers the proper ending: _Stop._

_Affirmative stop. If I spoke of Dr. Montgomery's reptiles the way these people spoke of their K-9 units my employment would immediately stop stop._

"And there was one time when I saw--" There is a hush in the crowd of officers and detectives as they come upon Askr, upright and re-rooted.

"I told you it was a prank call, Gregson," Lestrade says. "I can't believe you dragged us all the way out here for nothing." And he begins to lead the group back to whence they came.

"Now listen, Lestrade, you were the one who took us out here because you'd rather investigate defaced property instead of a possible abduction--" Just as Jacquelyn and Gustav prepare for a most welcome sigh of relief, Gregson observes the dirt around Askr and shakes his head. "Wait a second!" He grips the slim trunk with both hands and pulls Askr out of the ground. Jacquelyn's hands fly to her mouth in astonishment. She ignores the taste of dirt still clinging to her skin. "Yes, this tree has definitely been uprooted within the past twenty-four hours."

"See?" Lestrade admonishes his peers. "Vandalism at its most insidious! And you all thought it was a prank call."

As the crowd of detectives and officers expound their apologies, Gregson unceremoniously drops Askr to the ground, snapping several delicate branches. Gustav looks at Jacquelyn with a level of indignation he reserves only for the worst of films or books. They step out from behind Askr's neighbour at once, and exclaim:

" _We beg your pardon!_ "

About a dozen nightsticks are brandished and flashlights shone cruelly into their eyes.

"It's a crime to beg in this city!" Lestrade shouts.

"No, Lestrade, it's a figure of speech," Gregson says.

"Begging, a figure of speech? No, the law clearly states that--"

"'We beg your pardon' is a figure of speech, you imbecile!" Despite the rude manner, a glimmer of hope ignites in Jacquelyn's heart at the thought of seeing a competent police officer. Until Gregson goes on: "Which here means, 'We apologize for startling you, Officers.'"

"We're doing neither!" Jacquelyn snaps.

"We're doing neither, _sir,_ " Lestrade corrects them with a sneer.

"There's no need to call her _sir_ , Officer," Gustav retorts. "My associate prefers female pronouns."

A blank stare answers Gustav's rare example of sarcasm. As unintelligent people often do when faced with people who are smarter than them, Lestrade goes on the defensive. "Why are you two out here in the middle of the night?" And the crowd of officers and detectives murmur. "I hope you aren't doing anything illegal, such as..." He looks at them, and quirks an eyebrow. "Loitering."

The crowd giggles.

"We were doing nothing of the sort," Jacquelyn says, blood boiling. "In fact, we were doing something quite useful and active, which is replanting that poor tree."

"Really?" Lestrade asks. He looks around. "I don't see a shovel anywhere. Loiterers!" He brings out a pair of handcuffs with much unnecessary noise.

"Stop!" Gustav steps in front of Jacquelyn. "We wove these ropes into a sling, worked it underneath the loosened dirt, and took out enough to stand the tree upright in the hole before replacing the sod!"

Jacquelyn grabs the tarp, now black with lingering sod, to show it to Lestrade. "Oh," the officer says. While disappointed, he does not put the handcuffs away. Jacquelyn's heart does not figuratively leave her throat.

"Did you see who uprooted the tree?" Gregson asks.

"Well..." Jacquelyn hesitates. While unpleasant and unintelligent, Gregson and Lestrade are still officers of the law. She feels obliged to be honest, however reluctant she is to concede to such annoying people. "I did."

The crowd gasps, and the handcuffs jingle menacingly.

"But only under duress!" Jacquelyn exclaims. "I was abducted and tied to Askr by terrible people! Not to mention we've just replanted Askr! I'm not defacing public property now--I am in fact _refacing_ it!"

"You mean you're doing _our_ job?" Lestrade asks.

"I... I suppose so, though I'd expect that would fall to a landscaper more than--"

In a flash, her hands are behind her back and in shackles.

"Miss Whatever-Your-Name-Is," Lestrade announces, most uncouthly, "You are under arrest for impersonating an officer of the law. You have the right to remain silent--"

"Excuse me!" Jacquelyn cries. "My name is Jacquelyn Scieszka!"

"Janet Weiss, you are under arrest. You have the right to--"

"Wait!" Gustav cries. "I, Gustav Sebald, carried Askr back to the scene of the crime! Therefore, you should arrest me too for acting as accomplice!"

"Then, George Stevens, you are also under arrest for acting as accomplice. Arrest him!"

"Gustav!" Jacquelyn hisses, as her associate is promptly handcuffed and dragged to a police car along with her. "What are you doing?"

"It would be most uncouth to let a woman go to prison alone, Jacquelyn. As the only gentleman in the vicinity, and Askr is to stay here, the duty of accompanying you falls to me." As a matter of fact, Jacquelyn doesn't recall ever hearing that in any of her training, though it may have been taught during one of the gentleman-only lessons. However, her mind is whirling with much more pressing matters than obscure rules of etiquette.

Such as Gregson, who asks, "Who's Oscar?"

"Arrest him too, wherever he is!" Lestrade cries.

"Askr," Gustav corrects him.

"The tree," Jacquelyn adds.

"Why would you name a tree Oscar?" Gregson asks.

"It means 'ash' in Old Norse," Jacquelyn says, then stresses the pronunciation: "And it is pronounced Askr."

"Are you raising your voice to an Oscar of the law?" Lestrade asks. "I mean, officer? Of the law?"

"Yes, because you are repeatedly mispronouncing the tree's name--which, I repeat--is _Askr._ "

"Listen, Jessica--" Jacquelyn recoils at a similar sounding name to one which, however briefly, served as Count Olaf's alias. "--I don't have time to listen to a citizen. But both of you need to listen to me, so I don't have to say this twice. You have the right to remain--"

Jacquelyn lets him prattle on, inwardly seething. Despite the fact that police officers often tell people to remain silent, there are not many associates of V.F.D. who also serve on police forces. She turns to look at Askr, still on its side, and wonders if they will ever get around to re-replanting it. Though Gustav had told her that trees could survive for weeks uprooted, it was like seeing a turtle on its back. The first thing she wanted to do was get the poor thing upright.

\- - -

_Far too much time later:_

"It's five o'clock!" Gustav bemoans, as they remain in the holding cell. "If we don't think of something soon, we won't have nearly enough time to get home, change into proper attire, and unwrap all of our hard candy before the overture!"

"That's a faux pas I'm willing to make, Gustav," Jacquelyn says. "I'd go in there wearing jeans if it meant I could get those poor children out of Olaf's grasp. _Acid-washed jeans._ "

Several people shudder audibly, from the next cell over. Gustav winces as well, but says, "And I'd follow you with a bag of chips." He winces again, as their neighbours murmur in astonishment. "After a moment to prepare myself."

"Jacosta Schaefer! Gary Seinfeld!" Lestrade calls. Jacquelyn pointedly refuses to look up, though they are the only ones in this particular cell. "Hey! Vandals!" The bars are rattled with unnecessary noise as they are unlocked. "Your fine's been paid. Both of them."

"We are not vandals, nor the many, many names you have addressed us by in these past few days," Jacquelyn tells him.

Lestrade closes the door after Gustav, who turns back and pleads silently with her as Gregson uncuffs him.

" _Sir,_ " she snaps.

The door opens. Jacquelyn is uncuffed. As she rubs her arms, she looks at Gustav. "I wonder who paid for us."

"I never called Dr. Montgomery," Gustav tells her. "Though he may have suspected from my unannounced absence for several days that something unpleasant may have happened, he is also worried about the children, and seeing as I am an adult, I would fully understand if he went to rescue them first."

"Some lady did it--" Gregson informs them brusquely. "Doris Aura or something. Said she worked with you."

"Well, we don't know anyone by _that_ name, of course," Gustav mutters. "Doris... Doris... Could it be Denise?"

"Or Delilah?" Jacquelyn suggests.

"No, neither of them have the funds necessary to pay two people's bail at once. However, it's not impossible that they would set aside their differences--"

"Oh," Jacquelyn says, as their bailer takes leave of their jailer. "Gustav!" She takes his arm rather tighter than she normally would, though not as tightly as she had gripped him earlier out of misplaced rage.

"What's wrong? Is it--" He looks up, and grips the hand on his arm. " _Oh._ "

"Good afternoon, my fellow associates." Their saviour wears an evening gown, long gloves and shoes of kid leather, and a feathered fascinator perched on her mound of pinned up curls. All of her clothing is of modest cut, but very high quality grey silk.

"Good afternoon, Your Grace," they both answer. Jacquelyn dips a curtsy, as best she can in a pencil skirt. Gustav gives a deep nod.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" Jacquelyn asks. "This is rather far from Winnipeg."

"I happened to be in the state, and heard you were attending the theatre. The inconvenience of being imprisoned should never prevent one from supporting the arts."

"Our gratitude is infinite, Your Grace!" Gustav says. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we must get to the theatre."

"In _daywear?_ " the Duchess exclaims, clutching her necklace. "Je vous demande pardon!"

"Veuillez m’excuser, Your Grace, but it is of the utmost importance that we reach the theatre on time rather than well-dressed," Jacquelyn says.

Gustav continues, "Our reputations as good audience members, while important, are much less pressing than the safety of three innocent children at that performance."

"Yet, if you have the wherewithal to dress correctly as well as rescue the children, by all means do so." The Duchess extends a hand to the door. "I give you leave to take my personal carriage to the nearest shop for proper attire."

"That--that..." Jacquelyn stammers.

"That is amazingly generous, Your Grace," Gustav finishes. "But how would you get to the theatre yourself?"

"An elementary solution, my dear colleague!" Even a giggle from the Duchess is elegant. "I shall take my other carriage."

Jacquelyn stands on tip-toe to look out the window and finds that there are, indeed, two carriages in the street side by side, each with a quartet of les Valereaux Francaise Destrier, the Duchess' favored horse.

"Well, we've got no time to lose." Jacquelyn takes Gustav's arm and starts walking. "Mille fois merci, Your Grace--I don't expect we can ever repay you."

"I don't expect you ever shall," the Duchess replies, "Seeing as there is no debt to repay. I shall see you at the theatre, my friends."

The driver opens the door for them. Gustav offers Jacquelyn a hand onto the steps, and the door is shut behind them with a musical jingle, rather than a menacing one. A few moments later, the other carriage door opens and shuts. The two teams of four horses start trotting along at the same time, in different directions. Staring out the window, listening to the jingle of harnesses and the clip-clop of hooves, with Gustav still holding her hand, the world seems very quiet and very safe, at least for the moment.

Jacquelyn admits softly, "I forgot how nice it was to be rescued for once, rather than the rescuer."

"And, oh--what fun it is to ride in a four-horse cabriolet."

"That too." Jacquelyn smiles, leaning her head against Gustav's shoulder.

"Do you think the children would enjoy it?"

"Absolutely," she says.

It is always pleasant to ride in a horse-drawn carriage, no matter how old one is. In fact, one of the few safe places left to the V.F.D. are horse-drawn carriages--they are much quieter and somewhat less flammable than automobiles, and easily store a shelf of books in addition to luggage. Some of the Duchess' favourite titles are shelved across from them, though they are in French, which leaves Gustav sadly unable to partake of the comfort. If they only had more time, Jacquelyn thinks with a wistful sigh, she would translate as she read the book aloud so they both could enjoy.

But instead of picking up _Le Livre de la Cité des Dames_ , she turns to Gustav and asks, "What's that thing Ringo Starr said?"

He smiles. "I get by with a little help from my friends."

"Speaking of friends," Jacquelyn says. "I wonder how Askr is doing."

A crackle from their seat. "Hello, associates?"

"We read you loud and clear, Your Grace."

"I took the liberty of buying the tree you were arrested for uprooting, and packed earth around its roots. Askr shall be delivered to Mademoiselle Scieczka's flat shortly, by means of my other other carriage."

"Shall we tell her your flat has barely enough room for a houseplant, much less an ash tree?" Gustav asks.

"Actually, your Grace," Jacquelyn says, "I feel Askr would do best on the grounds of Dr. Montgomery's home, seeing as the ash tree is the favoured haunt of the Icelandic Drillsnake."

"Oh, of course. Alain! Inform Grillet that he is to drive the tree to Dr. Montgomery's home, not that of Mademoiselle Sciezska. I beg your pardon, associates, I really should have asked where the tree was to be sent."

"All is forgiven, your Grace," they respond.

**Author's Note:**

> Name a reference and receive my deepest gratitude.


End file.
